


The Space Between the Stars

by bookstorequeer



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Grogu | Baby Yoda, Attempted Kidnapping, Bacta (Star Wars), Bacta Tank (Star Wars), Canon-Typical Violence, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode Fix-it, Episode: s02e06 The Tragedy, Excessive Use of a Made-Up Language, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fix-It, Gen, Good Parent Din Djarin, He Remembers the Damned Jetpack, I'm Fixing This and You Can't Stop Me, Injury, Major Character Injury, ManDadlorian, Mando'a Language (Star Wars), Medical Examination, Medical Inaccuracies, Near Death Experiences, Parent-Child Relationship, Protective Din Djarin, The Mandalorian (TV) Season 2 Spoilers, The Mandalorian (TV) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-13 16:29:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28906404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookstorequeer/pseuds/bookstorequeer
Summary: A 'what if' fromChapter 14: The Tragedy- What if our Mandalorian had used his jetpack? How would that change canon?Breath rasping through beskar, he gained the hilltop in time to watch dark troopers take off. The jetpack dropped at his feet and he threw away his blaster in the scramble to get his beskar wings in place.If something happened to his founding, by creed he would never forgive himself. He would have his revenge and give his strength as penance in the attempt.
Comments: 48
Kudos: 154





	1. Conflict

**Author's Note:**

> Major spoilers for **The Mandalorian Season 2**. It starts during **Chapter 14: The Tragedy** and will continue through the end of season 2.
> 
> A **gigantic** thanks to my friend Ryan for helping me with this. He totally wasn't pressured into it or anything.... (And also thanks for listening to all my babbles during the writing.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a fair amount of the Mandalorian language in this fic. I've done my best to define it throughout but there is also a list in the end notes. To start, however: _ad'ika_ is "child" and _buir_ is "parent."

The Mandalorian's throat was burning, Tython hillside shifting beneath his feet. He kept stumbling because he couldn't look away from the dark specks in the sky. He knew Fennec Shand was beside him but had only eyes for the incoming threats. They'd taken care of the stormtroopers but a tickle of unease across his neck said the incoming enemy were something _worse_.

He'd left the child alone on the Jedi seeing stone. He'd left _his child alone_ to, what, play at fighting over armour that wasn't even his? If something happened to his founding, by creed he would never forgive himself. He would have his revenge and give his strength as penance in the attempt.

Breath rasping through beskar, he gained the hilltop in time to watch dark troopers take off. Without looking away from the tiny bundle clutched in those cold arms, he thumbed the buttons on his vambrace and called the jetpack lying half a world away. It dropped at his feet and he threw his blaster in the scramble to get his beskar wings in place. Grogu was being taken further away with every racing heartbeat and he felt like rubber tubing stretching towards breaking.

The wind whistling in his helmet drowned out Fennec's shout; he only cared about the child's eyes on him, a surge of hope beneath plate armour.

He caught up to the dark troopers, pulse angry in his ears. Grogu reached out to him and although he couldn't hear it, he knew what the pleading coo sounded like. It was the wish for a second cookie and a carry across hot sand, cuddles after a long day. He didn't need to hear it to feel it and the Mandalorian dodged the burdenless troopers, vibro-knife lashing out. It did little more than spark against armour but allowed him close enough to where Grogu was wriggling against enemy arms.

"Hang in there, kid," he breathed behind the modulator, grabbing the offending trooper from behind. The blade landed deep in an eye socket before the enemy could shake him off. The mechanical whine was unexpected but the loosened grip was not; he slapped a flash charge in the middle of the trooper's chest and wrenched Grogu free. The womp rat dove into his arms, face crushed against plate armour and claws clenched in his kute, flightsuit fabric pulling tight. He got a solid hold in time to be knocked sideways, down a hundred feet with frightened squeals ringing in his helm. He wanted to reassure the kid but there were still dark troopers after them and he wasn't sure the charges at his belt would be enough.

Glancing down, the Mandalorian clutched his child tighter, wishing between heartbeats that he were a Codru-Ji, the extra hands would be useful.

"Hold on!" he shouted as the troopers closed in. He'd get one chance at this.

The whipcord caught on enemy easily enough but he struggled to catch the other two in his desperate plan. They collided with a dull clank of armour and air; there was just space between them for the remaining charges and a prayer that the Manda keep his foundling safe.

His flight and his plan screeched to a halt as the cord pulled taut. The release sputtered, jammed, and the dark trooper was reeling them closer like a hooked fish.

"Dank farrik." He'd worry about Grogu picking up his bad language later, if they survived. Looking down at the child in his arms, he knew there was nothing else to do. His wrenched arm and jetpack groaned from trying to pull away, the helm display whined an imminent explosive-proximity warning. But his eyes traced the curve of that fragile head against his chest. 

_Three._

The display screamed and he tucked the foundling within as much beskar as he could.

_Two._

Legs pulled up, his knees nearly reached his helmet, even with Grogu in the space between.

_One._

At first everything was pressure, stealing his mind and his breath, snapping the grappling line and cracking his beskar wings. Then there was only _heat_ , the world in flames and wind biting at them as they plummeted. He struggled to keep conscious, to keep his body between the child and the impact awaiting them. He would lay down his life for this child.

As their descent battered against his helmet, he managed another prayer to the Manda before the world went black.

There was nothing. Nothing but darkness. Darkness and a weight on his chest. A weight warm and familiar. Familiar and being lifted. He swung before his eyes would open, one hand clutching the child, the other lashing out.

The instinctive movement screamed along shattered nerves, a groan skittering across his tongue. The Mandalorian wanted to squeeze his eyes shut and go back to the darkness, the nothing. But there was a coo from the bundle weighing down his lungs and he needed to see the child.

"Grogu?" More a rasp than a word.

Claws echoed as taps against his helmet and his sigh was loud through the helmet. He hissed when another wriggle scraped bone against broken. His hands twitched, powerless to stop the child being lifted away.

"Come, ad'ika, your buir needs rest." That unfamiliar voice had never sounded so soft.

 _Buir_. The mando'a tightened something in his chest that he had been ignoring, because it was no use breaking his own heart when Grogu had a place waiting in the galaxy that he couldn't follow. In his dreams he was a buir but in the recycled air of the _Razor Crest_ , he was a ver'gebuir, a caretaker at best, a taxi at worst, shepherding this foundling towards the child's people.

The coos stayed close and he breathed a little easier, his foundling still close. He just needed to catch his breath and reclaim the child. This stranger had said Grogu was not their goal but trust was earned, not given to all who came into their lives. Eyes blurry behind beskar, eyelids heavy, he stared at the ceiling overhead.

"What...?" There were only aches chasing each other around his battered skull.

"You really do need rest, Mandalorian."

The questions he should be asking were vague and formless between sparking nerves and a throbbing heartbeat drowning out everything else.

"There is little we can do for you here. I have some bacta on board but you need more than my hands."

A turned head was more hurt piled upon injury but he couldn't pick out individual screaming nerves. Gritted teeth stopped the few words he had.

"Your ship is ash, Mandalorian." He couldn't read that face but there was a curve that might be sympathy for things lost. A fist thunked against worn, painted beskar. "We have left Tython because I promised the safety of you and your child, and you are in no fit state to take on Imperials."

There would be time to mourn the only home the Mandalorian had known for more than half his life and to scavenge the wreckage, but for now beskar turned back to the ceiling.

"How can I—" He grunted rather than screamed. "—trust you? You stole that armour."

There were volumes in those stiff shoulders but an aching head could not read the angles of flesh and bone. The sigh echoed but he was stubborn; the Mandalorian kept his gaze on the squirming bundle, too far away to reach with his battered limbs. The flashing display in his helmet pinged a warning overlaid above the others that his heart was racing beyond the recommended parameters of his baseline.

"I want you to take a look at something."

The stranger crouched beside him and he managed to take hold of the child's reaching hand. A few taps on a chipped vambrace and there was Mando'a hovering between them.

"My chain code has been encoded in this armour for 25 years. You see, this is me, Boba Fett. This is my father, Jango Fett."

Head swimming, he stopped imagining ways to snatch back the child. "Your father was a foundling."

"Yes. He even fought in the Mandalorian Civil Wars."

"Then the armour belongs to you."

A nod. "I appreciate its return."

The child wriggled free to curl against his side, tucked between battered beskar and the wall. He ignored the lights flashing before his eyes when he moved because it was worth any pain to feel that warmth, that heart beating beneath his palm.

"Then our deal is complete," he managed.

Boba Fett shook his head, a glance to the painted helmet set aside. "Not quite." Shadowed eyes met pained through the visor. "Let us help you. We can take you somewhere safe. Somewhere with medical facilities."

He wracked his brain, thoughts firing sluggishly around a damaged skull. The Armourer was the closest thing he had to kin outside their clan of two and Mandalorians took care of their own. If she had survived, maybe she could direct him to help. But the Covert was scattered and he had no idea where the Armourer would be. 

And he would owe Boba and Fennec for their help. He avoided debts to more than the Covert who had raised him. With Grogu to look after, he could ill afford favours called in; he needed them owed, not owing.

A glance away, down at the child dozing against his beskar. It took two tries to smooth a palm over that dreaming head, just to know his foundling was safe. His fingers trembled within thick gloves, unable to shake that terrified face calling out to him from the enemy's grip.

Boba's head tilted, expression unreadable to a dazed brain. "Should you not get your ad'ika looked over?"

The displays whined again when his heartbeat stuttered. Could the child be hurting? So close and yet he was helpless to soothe any injuries. He tried to raise up, frantic, but the restraining hand was more pressure than warmth through his pauldron.

"He seems fine," the other bounty hunter soothed, "but would it not be better to be sure?" A steady gaze he couldn't shake. "Allow us deliver you to your chosen gaa'taylir[help], Mandalorian. _Then_ I will consider our deal complete." An ungloved finger ran along the soft curve of a large green ear and his will weakened. "For the child, if not for yourself."

"Nevarro," he grunted, air rasping up a throat damaged by screaming. The request sat sour on his tongue but their straits were dire. They were helpless in ways he had not been since a training accident with the Rising Phoenix had broken his leg into six pieces.

"We will hyperjump at once."

He could see echoes of a Mandalorian in this man, like tenets lost to time and weather. Worn down to the faintest hint of what used to be but always moving forward, keeping beskar and self close to one's chest.

"Are we finally leaving quadrant?" Fennec Shand's voice echoed in the space between them. He jolted badly enough to rattle beskar against the corrugated floor, Grogu not moving in tiny dreams.

Mercenary paid Mandalorian no more than a passing glance as she climbed the ramp, lingering a moment on the bundle at his hip. He frowned beneath his helm but her hesitation was fleeting, turned instead towards a rising Boba Fett.

"We're taking the Mandalorian and his child to Nevarro."

"Hm."

Boba's helmet slid on as easily as if it had been made to and he tried to focus past a wave of exhaustion. The unfamiliar armour turned to Fennec and there was an entire discussion in the faintest of head tilts, the quirk of a mouth. He was breathless and dizzy before there was a nod.

"Nevarro." A scuff of footsteps but his focus had dimmed. "Then _you_ give him this."

His eyes closed before he could make sense of it but the pain faded when the world did, turning into the hum of engines through the floor and the sleepy murmur of the child at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **MANDO'A:**  
>  _ad'ika_ \- child  
>  _buir_ \- parent  
>  _gaa'taylir_ \- help  
>  _kute_ \- underwear, bodysuit, something worn under armor  
>  _Manda_ \- the collective soul or heaven - the state of being Mandalorian in mind, body and spirit - also supreme, overarching, guardian-like  
>  _Mando'a_ \- Mandalorian language (one of the tenets of Mando life is the language)  
>  _ver'gebuir_ \- bodyguard lit: hired guardian (almost-father)  
>   
>  **RANDOM WORDS:**  
>  _bacta_ \- a medical gel-solution with seemingly magical healing properties. (seen in Chapter 8: Redemption)  
>  _Codru-Ji_ \- a race of four-armed humanoids that inhabited the planet Munto Codru.  
>  _Dank ferrik_ \- Star Wars swearing


	2. Submersion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian _hurts_ but he is not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes mentions of injury and medical procedures, including the possibility of dying from said injuries.

He woke to the landing whine of the engines. Abused muscles had stiffened, throbbing at the tiniest shift on the floor and he was thirstier than he should have been. There was no weight at his side but the Mandalorian could hear scuffs and coos in the otherwise empty room.

"Grogu." It took two tries and the name cracked in half but that little green face filled his visor. "Hey. You okay?"

"Bah!" A smile, a nod, and a pat on his beskar. The kid plopped down beside him, ears twitching at the swoosh of the doors.

Painted armour loomed over them and a piece of him murmured _vod_ [brother/friend] before unclenching but his fingers still twitched for a blaster. A sunrise before, this enemy had trained a gun on his foundling; now flat on his back, he was unable to do much to protect them.

"We have arrived."

"I need to—" He panted, struggling to smother the sound of weakness behind his modulator. An attempt at sitting was arrested by a hand on his beskar.

"You cannot, Mandalorian. Fennec will go."

Staring up at Boba, he debated if the truth would make a difference.

"She's wanted by the Bounty Hunter's Guild." A pause as he swallowed, choked, and everything tasted like iron. "Comm Cara Dune. If I c-can talk to her..." The words trailed off into gasps. He was a beached Ruhau-whale and the spots before his eyes weren't going away.

A hand lifted his head and he pulled from the straw slipped beneath his helmet. The liquid tasted stale but helped move the lump down his throat. His breath rasped and Grogu's coos were whines at his shoulder, scared and _help_ noises combined. He stared blankly at the communicator held between beskar and ceiling, Dune's voice tinny and small.

"Cara?"

A beat of her silence was deafening.

"Mando?"

"Cara, I—" Inhaling hurt; he told himself he could feel the weight of a tiny hand on his helm. "I need your help."

"Name it."

"Bacta." Boba leant close as the Mandalorian panted behind the modulator, trying to ungrit his teeth. "As much bacta as you can find. A medical droid would not be unwelcome."

"Who are you?"

"We have no time for chain codes," the other bounty hunter snapped, a palm in the middle of unpainted beskar.

He was struggling to find enough air. The room spun and the child's whines pierced his aching head and his heart.

" _Please_ ," he grunted, hands fists against the floor, his focus on breathing rather than Boba standing up.

A faint warmth pulsed out from the clawed hand curled into the kute exposed at his neck; it echoed a spark in his chest as the sharpest of pains eased.

"Th-thanks, kid," he managed, helmet rolling to look at his foundling. Those dark eyes blinked dazedly and his chest clenched when Grogu reached out again. "No, ad'ika, that's enough." Green ears flapped on a head shake but he caught the outstretched palm between trembling fingers. "I know, pal, but you can't. I'll be all right." He grit his teeth to swallow the lie.

"Bah..."

His smile hid beneath beskar, thumb running across green knuckles.

"You've done enough." His eyes closed when forehead met beskar; this close he knew that the kid was safe and let himself drift, not reacting to rushing footsteps and an inarticulate cry landing beside them.

"Dank farrik, Mando. You have _got_ to stop doing this." Cara Dune was familiar and steady, even angry, and some tense part of him relaxed further.

"M-Moff Gideon tried to—"

"We'll deal with that later. First, let's get you sorted."

The whir of a droid rattled the floor beneath him but he let the 2-1B med-unit scan him once Grogu was in Cara's arms, away from the thing. He had trusted the IG-11 with his child but this droid had earned no such allowances. He might submit himself to sterile attentions but Mando'ade looked after their own foundlings.

"Scan complete."

He hissed at the hypodermic jab below his helmet but a spreading numbness made it easier to listen.

"Results: 27 fractures, including a comminuted fracture of the left foot. Contusions are present on approximately 74.8% of the epidermis. Internal hemorrhage and damage to the spleen will result in death unless treated within the next 182 minutes."

His eyes closed against Grogu's whimper but the droid droned on.

"Recommendation: Immediate submersion within a 43% bacta solution for a minimum of 6 hours. Diagnosis without treatment: Loss of consciousness due to exsanguination, followed by death of subject."

" _Shit_ , Mando," Greef Karga whistled, wheeling in a battered portable bacta tank, more covered in dust than original paint. "You really don't do things by half."

The Mandalorian grunted, unable to find breath or words to respond as the child was handed off and Cara hauled him upright. Nothing was numb enough to smother the scream behind his clenched teeth but he tried. If he'd had enough air, he would have begged Karga to take Grogu off the ship. He couldn't stay stoic for his ad'ika when being vertical meant blood rushing to new, shattered nerves. Cara's shoulders were broad beneath his arm but he was one leg shy of standing as they shuffled towards the tank.

"W-wait."

"What now?" the shock trooper at his side ground out.

"My armour..."

"Dank farrik."

"I will remove the unnecessary layers," the 2-1B chirped and he jerked away from the shears.

"No! Kriffing _stop_." He panted in place, ribs grinding with every inhale, mind struggling to find a way out. Instinct said violence but dimmed vision meant he couldn't guarantee Grogu's safety from blaster fire or rogue droids. He squashed the knee-jerk, cornered-animal response and exhaled in stuttered stages.

Bacta needed skin exposure to work, on his back in the portable tank. But as a Mandalorian, he could not show his face. The idea of peeling off his beskar was bad enough; skirting the edges of the Resol'nare tenets made him more nauseous than a head injury.

He and the med-droid were the only ones not to turn when the internal hold doors opened. Their standoff remained, despite the warning bleat of "180 minutes until exsanguination."

Boba stood framed on the threshold. "I will help you in removing your armour, Mandalorian."

He loathed the idea of increasing his debt to Fett but the droid's dire predictions and his own pulse rang too loudly in his ears to protest. Limp in Cara's hold, he mumbled answers when the other bounty hunter asked and only trembled as his kute was revealed. He flinched when that too hit the floor. He was a gampassa turtle with its shell torn off, soft underbelly exposed to an unforgiving world. But only when unfamiliar hands grazed his helmet did his instincts override his intentions.

"No! I-I can't."

"2-1B," Cara's voice rumbled through his chest after a dozen struggling heartbeats of silence, "are there any head injuries that require bacta submersion?"

"No."

"Then the kriffing helmet stays on."

"Very well." Calloused hands left his skin and despite trying to track Boba's whereabouts, his vision flickered like a broken holo projector. He was next aware of the tank closing over his shoulders.

The med droid beeped once the latest scan finished. "I am registering a 16% decrease in efficacy due to incomplete submersion. Recommendation update: Submersion in bacta solution for a minimum of 8 hours."

"Fine, just keep an eye on him," Cara muttered from what sounded like the end of a narrowing tunnel. A tap to the side of his helmet startled him and he rolled his head to look up at her. "You okay in there?"

"Mostly," he swallowed the crack in his voice, "mostly numb. So, better."

"All right." The blur looked like a nod, even if his eyes refused to focus properly. "You soak, we'll get the kid something to eat."

"Thank you. Vor'e."

"Yeah." She rapped a knuckle against his beskar and that was the last he knew.

Out of the bacta solution and back inside his beskar shell, he had boots on before he saw Grogu again. Newly nimble fingers snapped a vambrace into place and he looked down at the little menace cooing at his knee.

"Hey kid."

The child's weight was familiar and comforting settled in his arms; he ignored the twinges and an alarmed bleat from the med droid. Beneath the armour he felt tender, vulnerable and unscarred in places that used to ache. And he kept smelling something sickly sweet on his skin. As that precious bundle crowded close, his heart echoed the shudders running through that undersized frame.

"I'm sorry I scared you," he murmured, helmet tilted against the curve of a vulnerable skull.

"Aw, look at you two." Karga just shrugged at an unseen glare. "I didn't take a holo. What more do you want?"

Deciding not to poke at the people he owed his life to, he looked to the child instead.

"Has the medical droid checked him over? Boba," another crack in his throat, "thought he might have been injured in the impact."

"Boba. As in _Fett_? Is that who..." The Guildmaster trailed off, staring at the interior doors to the rest of the ship, heat tilt thoughtful. A cleared throat brought his attention back. "The little womp rat's fine, I promise. The 2-1B gave him the once over after you were dunked. Cara and I fed him his body weight and then some."

He hefted the body in his arms. "That fits. I think he used a lot of energy."

"As have you. Come, let us dine together and you can tell me what on Bespin brought you back to Nevarro in the company of Boba _kriffing_ Fett."

"I should—"

"I was told they're refuelling and resting." Karga reached as if to take the child but the beskar grip tightened and Grogu himself leaned back against plate armour. "They will not leave without you, my friend."

He hesitated, caught between discharging a debt and finding rest.

"Come!" An expansive wave for Mandalorian and child to follow. "Sustenance awaits you. I'm sure the baby will be willing to eat again."

The Mandalorian joined Greef Karga, scanning the horizon for dark troopers. He had been so close to losing his foundling, to losing everything. He refused to let Moff Gideon harm a single downy hair on Grogu's head. He would die first.

"Bah."

"Sorry," he mumbled, loosening his grip, even as three small fingers wrapped around his thumb. After checking the sky was clear, he glanced down, smiling behind his beskar. "I won't let anything happen to you, ad'ika. You know that, right?" The coo followed a smile that patched holes that life had left on his heart.

They met Cara Dune on the threshold and settled back to back with meals before them. Between careful bites, helmet lifted just so each time, he told them about Jedis, about children calling their own teachers, and about dark troopers and the element of surprise being your only weapon.

"So the baby will be a Jedi?" Karga pushed a plate of cookies within reach but gloved fingers took hold before it could be emptied.

He handed over the treat, ignoring wide, wet eyes while murmuring, "Just one."

When grumbled coos were loudest, he could hear Ahsoka Tano in his head saying "You're like a father to him" again. He strove to do right by this foundling in his care, whatever it took.

The slope of Karga's shoulders was thoughtful, watching Grogu. "If I hadn't felt it myself, I'd never believe that something so small could wield so much power."

"But that's the problem," he said, ignoring Cara's snort as he gave the child a second cookie.

The instinctive prickle down his neck was familiar when they looked at him. Any attention was potentially dangerous; that lesson had been driven home soundly by his training.

"He's still small. By the Creed he is mine to protect. But can I just hand him over to some stranger?" Grogu's coo was scared and _stay_ , as the child dropped a half eaten cookie to hold more tightly to his glove. "And how can one Jedi teacher protect him? Can I trust his safety to some stranger when Moff Gideon is out there, waiting?"

Cara shrugged, running a fingertip down the curve of Grogu's ear and smiling when the child looked at her. "Then we take the fight to Gideon."

The Mandalorian stared at the former shock trooper, surprise smothered beneath beskar and practice.

"We don't give him the chance." She stared straight at his visor. "We don't have to _kill_ him but he could be very useful, with all that Imperial knowledge in his head. Let me see what Gideon's worth to the New Republic."

He sat and breathed until his pulse stopped climbing in the helmet display. That was a thought for tomorrow, when knit bones stopped feeling one blow from breaking again. He watched the child eat a third cookie he had no memory of handing over and wondered what life might be like with no threat hanging over them.

As he snatched a fourth cookie from the air and took hold of an outstretched hand, he faced the truth. This foundling, the second member of their Mudhorn Clan, had a place in the universe that would not always be with him and he would do well not to forget that.

He sighed as those ears slumped and the child cooed up at him. Bellies full, sleep would do them the most good. He'd learned to take these moments where he found them.

"Is there somewhere we can rest?"

"Take my bunk," Cara offered, leading them with a quirk of a smile and a pat to a pauldron before the door shut. She waved off thanks, citing another patrol around the outskirts and a couch at the guard station.

Once the door had closed out the rest of the world, the Mandalorian bedded down, child climbing atop his plate armour. He couldn't find it in him to protest and instead rested their foreheads together.

"I will see you safe," he promised, modulator muffling some of the sorrow he couldn't swallow. "This is the Way."

Sleepy murmurs echoed against beskar but he couldn't set aside the vision of his foundling being snatched away. Dire dreams danced as shadows against the wall; if he'd been a moment too slow, a fraction closer when the charges went off. What if he hadn't remembered the jetpack and his child had been taken? Would he have ever seen that face light up at the sight of him? The happy flick of those ears, the _wanting_ twitch of those fingers? Would he have died without hearing the coo that meant "buir," in his fondest wishes?

Grogu frowned against plate armour, little fingers reaching out even as the child did not wake.

"Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad," he whispered into the scant space between them. The Mando'a felt _right_ , shaping into words the bond that had been growing. "I know your name as my child. Grogu. My ad'ika."

The foundling in his arms cooed sleepily as if all was right with the galaxy and he smiled, fingers smoothing over a heartbeat lost in dreams. Maybe when the time came to train his foundling, he could keep this. Maybe a Jedi and a Mandalorian could work together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **MANDO'A:**  
>  _kute_ \- underwear, bodysuit, something worn under armor  
>  _Mando'ade_ \- Mandalorians (pl) - sons and/ or daughters of Mandalore  
>  _Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad_ \- I know your name as my child; Mandalorian adoption vow  
>  _Resol'nare_ \- Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life  
>  _vod_ \- brother/sister/comrade/friend  
>  _Vor'e_ \- Thanks
> 
>  **MISC:**  
>  _Bespin_ \- A gas giant in the Outer Rim Territories. Used in this context as a sort of "what on earth?" expression  
>  _comminuted fracture_ \- a break or splinter of the bone into more than two fragments.  
>  _contusions_ \- A fancy, medical-y way of saying "bruise"  
>  _exsanguination_ \- A severe loss of blood  
>  _gampassa_ \- a species of turtle native to the planet Glee Anselm's oceans.  
>  _kriffing_ \- random Star Wars swear  
>  _Ruhau-whale_ \- a whale-type animal found on Utapau.


	3. Collision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mandalorian's Creed and his actions collide.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, spoilers for the second season, especially **Chapter 15: The Believer**.
> 
> This chapter contains dialogue from the episode (and some lines slightly rearranged).

The air around the ship was still, like the instant before take off. He didn't expect it but the cargo bay doors opened at his approach. Boba stood in the shadows, appropriately dramatic for the tales Greef Karga had told him with their fast-breaking meal.

"Well met, Mandalorian," the bounty hunter offered and he returned the arm clasp. "Good to see you on your own feet."

He set Grogu down, knowing the child would not stray far after their recent scare. They both clung more tightly but he had repeated his adoption vows once dawn broke; the excited coos chipped away at any lingering doubts that might have festered.

"And to see your ad'ika so lively is a balm," Boba said, crouching to scoop up the menace.

"He bounces back quickly," the Mandalorian agreed, smile hidden but loud in the words.

"And you? Bounced back?"

"I am." He would not admit to twinges when he was not dying. "Thank you for your assistance in bringing us to safety." His palm met plate armour and he inclined his head. "I consider our debt repaid. Cuun entye'jaon ti ijaat." [Our debt is over with honour.]

The other hesitated and he wished he could read the slope of those shoulders, the tilt of that helmet towards the child in arms.

At a scuff and a voice behind the interior doors, he had blaster in hand, child and Boba at his back without a thought. He only re-holstered when Fennec Shand walked through, followed by Cara Dune.

"I suppose our agreement is completed," Boba mused, glancing between the child and the warriors who had joined them.

"Although," Cara added, "if you _wanted_ to help when we go against Moff Gideon..."

"I never agreed to that," the Mandalorian ground out, resisting the urge to grab Grogu and get as far away as they could from the man with kriffing dark troopers.

The shock trooper squared her shoulders and stared at him, determination in every angle. "The kid'll never be safe until we take him down."

He stared, protests on his tongue but no breath behind them. A hand waved away his concern, as if _crawling_ into a bacta tank was nothing.

"As I was saying." Her smile as confident as it always was, she turned to Boba and Fennec. "If you help us, I have Greef's permission to retract Fennec's bounty puck."

Bounty hunter and mercenary eyed each other, an exchange in their angles and expressions that he had yet to decode. Grogu seemed content to remain in Boba's arms, chewing on the Mythosaur pendant, so the Mandalorian waited out their silent discussion, as if their help would not be vital in whatever moves they made next.

At length, Fennec nodded. Boba bounced Grogu and said, "We will help. Gideon has ori'suumyc, gone too far. We need to protect the foundling."

"Speaking of..." A glance between Mandalorian and child; he didn't like the set of Cara's shoulders as she asked, "Should we leave him with Greef?"

He stiffened without intent. "Wherever I go, he goes." Things were moving faster than his bacta-patched brain could parse but _that_ he would cling to. He and the child had survived too much together to be separated.

"For now, leave the ad'ika with me," Boba suggested. "You and Dune gather supplies. We should be on our way before Gideon gets too far ahead of us."

He hesitated, immediately resistant to the idea. Then Grogu smiled and waved, that happiness a spark of warmth in the middle of his chest. He nodded, smoothing a finger over a broad ear before turning to Cara.

"I have an idea for how to track Gideon without him finding us." A confident voice through the modulator showed nothing of nerves and doubts.

"Take your spear, vod [brother]," Boba called, the kinship unexpectedly round in the vowel-accent but appreciated.

"I found it in the ash of your ship." He looked to Fennec as she spoke, grief over his only home for the last decade sharp in his chest.

"Thank you."

"Ba'gedet'ye [You're welcome]." Her Mando'a had the same stresses as Boba's and he smiled despite the unfamiliar weight of the beskar staff sliding into place on his back.

"So what's your idea?" Cara asked, the ship behind them.

"I have someone I need you to locate."

There was satisfaction in the alarm on Migs Mayfeld's face as the Mandalorian strode down the ramp behind Boba and Fennec. The man had threatened his child, insulted his Creed, and double-crossed him. That they _weren't_ about to do the same assuaged any hint of guilt he should probably find at the man's fear.

"We need coordinates to Moff Gideon's cruiser."

"Moff Gideon?" The convict scoffed. "Yeah, forget it. Just take me back to the scrapyard. I'm not doin' that."

He levelled a glare at the ex-Imperial but Cara jumped in before he could follow through.

"Gideon threatened his kid. Nearly kidnapped him."

"The little green guy?"

"Yeah, the little green guy."

"That's not new."

He turned to the instrument panel. "They got too close."

Moff Gideon was why, despite the unnecessary risk, he would never think of leaving Grogu behind on Nevarro. So the child's new hammock was strung up beside the pilot's seat, watched by an unprotesting Fett.

"Well, then what's in it for me?" Mayfeld demanded.

The Mandalorian hated that they needed this greedy, honourless man. He did not trust the convict further than Grogu could throw him but with a little luck, he wouldn't have to.

"The way I see it," Cara snapped, "We can forget where we picked you up and _maybe_ that means you get a better view. Try to cross us and we found you on Delrian. Want to help out in the crust mines for the rest of your sentence?"

Mayfeld was silent for a long moment; beskar didn't turn towards the weight of eyes on helm.

"All right, but here's the thing, I can't get those coordinates unless I have access to an internal Imperial terminal."

The Mandalorian resisted the urge to stare, unease whispering into the spaces between his beskar. The convict's fidgeting echoed around them.

"I believe there's one on Morak."

He breathed a moment past the nerves, softly enough to bypass the whistle of the modulator. Part of being Mando'ade was being impenetrable and unflappable; he wasn't about to admit the tremble in his fingers as he reached for the ship's internal comm.

"Fett, punch in coordinates to Morak."

"Copy that."

As the planet came into view, lush and green below them, his misgivings looming like a krayt dragon. It rippled up his spine as first Cara, then Fennec, and Boba, refused to join Mayfeld in their infiltration of the base. And it broke across his skin in waves as he stared at the stolen stormtrooper exoskeleton in his hands.

" _Unless you’re gonna take off that helmet, go undercover, you better say goodbye to your little green friend_ ," echoed in his hesitation, mocking his shaking hands, his fumbles with the beskar closures he had never thought to undo like this. It went against everything as he understood it and he didn't need any sniping to know that.

"Hey, I’m just a realist," Mayfeld's voice grated through his borrowed helm. The transport bounced, tensions thick in the cab. "I’m a survivor, just like you."

His teeth ached from gritting them. "Let's get one thing straight, you and I are nothing alike."

The ex-Imp stared at him, smirk crooked and showing far too many teeth. The Mandalorian cursed himself for reacting at all. Mayfeld was like a charhound with a bone, hunting weakness and doubt.

"Seems to me like your rules start to change when you get desperate."

His Creed was worn threadbare, fingertips having rubbed the tenets into oblivion like weather wearing names off stone. Mayfeld's words whined in his ears, flies gorging themselves on blood and weakness. At least there was no modulator in this helmet to pick up his ragged breathing.

If he were confessing secrets, he might admit to doubts built by Bo Katan, by seeing more of the galaxy than the bounties in it. But he had only to remember Grogu's frantic face, reaching out to him from the clutches of the dark trooper, to know one thing for certain: He would do anything for his ad'ika. The Armourer had crafted them into a clan of two and by his own words he had adopted the foundling. Grogu was _his_ and he would make any sacrifice, defy any Creed, in order to keep the child safe.

"What the hell was that?"

The transport lurched, knocking him from thoughts that had no place there. Blast Mayfeld; the Imp's teeth had found bone with his biting and bothering.

"Pirates." He climbed from his seat, letting adrenaline wash away the doubts gnawing at him. "Keep driving, I'll take care of it."

And he did. But cradling an arm bruised to the bone and then some, he admitted that it would have been easier in beskar. He was used to being indestructible, feet solid in his beliefs as he stood his ground in Mandalorian steel. But the stolen vehicle shuddered beneath him and he fought pirates in defence of things he cared little about.

They swept into the Imperial base in a blaze of tie-fighters and blaster fire. Ignoring protesting muscles, he followed Mayfeld without a word until the other man stopped.

"I can't go in."

His heart dropped, replaced by the unrest that the universe had been whispering about, just on his periphery.

"Why not?"

"It's Valin Hess. I used to serve under him."

Beneath stolen armour, the world tilted under steady feet. They were deep in enemy territory, vulnerable except for surprise and stealth, with third-rate protection already cracked.

"...I'm not takin' the chance. It's over."

No. This was their only opportunity to find Gideon before the Moff could amass more troopers. This was for his Clan.

"Give me the datastick."

"It's not gonna work. To access the network, the terminal has to scan your face. We have to abort, I'm sorry." There was empathy in a down-turned mouth but determination in shadowed eyes.

His hand did not tremble between them, as steady as his voice when he ground out, "Give it to me," and strode into the officer's mess.

The hesitation came when he had to break his Creed. When it came time to lift the helmet from his head in a room full of aruetiise [outsiders]. It might not have been the weight of beskar in his hands but he felt exposed, remnants of the Resol'nare in tatters at his feet. He blinked, unable to respond as Hess and then Mayfeld came too close to ignore.

There were words, unmuffled by a helmet, the world louder and brighter than it had any right to be. He watched, distant as through a scope when Mayfeld shot Hess and the remaining officers in the room.

"You did what you had to do." It was without the bite of Mayfeld's teeth, more understanding than expected. "I never saw your face."

The helmet fit just as securely as it had before he'd taken it off. Just as low tech, as badly constructed. But he could _breathe_ behind its plastoid barrier. The air tasted like blaster fire and broken promises to himself but they had Moff Gideon's coordinates.

A firefight was no time for introspection. He could address the aching wound where mandokar should be once they were safe on Boba's ship. The weight of the child in his lap would always outweigh his beskar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **MANDO'A:**  
>  _ad'ika_ \- little one, child  
>  _aruetiise_ \- traitors, foreigners, outsiders  
>  _Ba'gedet'ye_ \- You're welcome!  
>  _Cuun entye'jaon ti ijaat_ \- Our debt is over with honour. (put together by me)  
>  _Mando'ade_ \- Mandalorians (pl) - sons and/ or daughters of Mandalore  
>  _mandokar_ \- the "right stuff", the epitome of Mando virtue - a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life  
>  _ori'suumyc_ \- beyond the pale, one step too far, outrageous (in Mandalorian morality)  
>  _Resol'nare_ \- Six Actions, the tenets of Mando life  
>  _vod_ \- brother/sister/friend
> 
>  **MISC:**  
>  _charhound_ \- a hound found on the ore planet of Elphrona, in the Outer Rim Territories.  
>  _Delrian_ \- A prison world in the Galactic Republic. Prisoners work the crust's mines.


	4. Introspection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of introspection immediately after the Mandalorian's actions on Morak. And specifically **The Believer** episode.

Stolen armour strewn like detritus at his feet, the Mandalorian stared at the unfamiliar face in the mirror.

He had once had a name.

His mother had smiled around it, fingers brushing through his hair. His father had called it from the doorstep of their home, the scent of dinner wafting from inside.

Moff Gideon had shouted it, stormtroopers at his back, threats on his tongue.

He _still_ had a name.

It lingered beneath the curves and corners of his helmet. Whispered through the gaps in his beskar.

To protect the people who had saved, raised, and trained him, he was only the Mandalorian, Mando, the hunter chasing bounties across the galaxy. As the one to leave Nevarro, he was nameless to preserve the anonymity of the covert; no one could trace a warrior with no past. There had been only an echo, murmured in dreams, more quietly than the most sensitive ear could hear. He had been one of many, without a face, without a clan, without a name. Because this was the Way.

But for the child he had shown his face. He had set aside helmet and Creed, blinking and dazed under harsh, enemy lights. First he had foregone his beskar and then his Creed entirely. And he would do it again in a heartbeat.

For a lifetime he had been anchorless within the galaxy because he kept himself hidden behind armour, heart closed to all who might know him.

Then had come the Child. He might have reached first but the Child had reached back and somehow, from that moment, he was ver'gebuir [bodyguard]. He had acted at the cost of his own safety, defying the Guild, allowing this tiny foundling to direct his travel through the stars. The child reached past his beskar protection as no other had.

He tried to remain faceless in his quest, a nameless Mandalorian despite the Mudhorn signet on his shoulder, the child at his hip. Let them call him what they would, for his name was barely a whisper, lost to a thousand parsecs between those who knew it.

But he had found other Mandalorians in the galaxy, ones who gave away the sounds of their names, the shapes of their faces. Could there be another Way? He had met them and he had wondered.

In the tiniest moments between jobs, in the quiet of a hyperjump, in the space between the stars, with eyes closed but dreams too far away, he had wondered. _Could_ he share his face with the child who was coming to mean more to him than a scrap of fabric from his mother's handkerchief? He would give up the last of his father's coins if they would put food in the child's belly. There was nothing he would not do to keep his child safe.

So he had showed his face. For his foundling, he had removed his helmet. He had broken his Creed. He was dar'manda, one who had lost his heritage, his identity, his _soul_.

But maybe... Maybe there was space within the galaxy for him to be Din Djarin. And maybe Din Djarin could still be Mandalorian. Like Bo Katan, he could have his face, his helmet, _and_ his name. There was still honour in his heart and beskar on his back, a foundling at his side.

He looked to the helmet staring at him. The curves and edges were familiar from a thousand reflections on a hundred different planets. It was his protection and his identity. But the Armourer did not know all corners of the galaxy. He might be dar'manda to the covert that had raised him but he was still buir to his ad'ika. As he had been charged, so he would willingly remain.

He climbed to his feet, stiff from the arguments chasing their tails inside his head. Trembling fingers clutched beskar and his breath caught as it slid into place over his nose. When he opened his eyes behind the visor, there was a Mandalorian reflected in the mirror before him. Din Djarin nodded to the ghost he used to be, straightened his shoulders, and strode out in search of Grogu.

He was a Mandalorian, with a helmet, a name, and a child to find.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **MANDO'A:**  
>  _ad'ika_ \- little one, son, daughter, of any age - also used informally to adults much like "lads" or "guys"  
>  _buir_ \- parent  
>  _dar'manda_ \- a state of not being Mandalorian - not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and his soul - regarded with absolute dread by most traditionally-minded Mando'ade  
>  _ver'gebuir_ \- bodyguard lit: hired guardian (almost-father)


	5. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have Moff Gideon's coordinates.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue is taken directly from the show script. Some is from the show but mushed around a little. Canon-typical violence in this part.

With Morak behind them, they debated the merits of sending Gideon a message. Din ran a finger over a broad ear, smiling as Grogu cooed in his hammock.

"We don't need him on his guard," Fennec countered, entering coordinates after a helmet tilt from Boba.

"I want him scared," Cara insisted.

She was resolute but Din shook his head; an enemy who knew they were cornered was one armed with bared teeth. Better to let Gideon forget he'd ever seen _Slave 1_. As satisfying as it would be to spit the Moff's words back at his feet; the Mandalorian knew exactly what Grogu was worth—he'd let the entire galaxy burn if he needed to.

Standing before the doors of the ship they were boarding, Cara Dune grinned at him. "Good to get some action in before the main event. Gets the blood pumping."

She just smiled at his unimpressed silence and unholstered her blaster.

The Imperial was already talking before the door had fully opened.

"Before you make a mistake, this is Dr Pershing."

The beskar helmet inclined ever so. "We've met."

"Drop your weapon." Cara was all steel as she strode forward, intent on the copilot holding a gun to their intended hostage.

"Stay back, dropper."

"Last chance."

"No, you listen to me. This is a top-tier target of the—" The copilot dropped where he stood, blaster-shot and sentence unfinished.

Din glanced at Cara, the clenched jaw and faintest waver to the muzzle of her blaster. Pershing remained frozen, the other pilot looking between them, eyes wide and breath rasping.

"Don't make trouble," was all the Mandalorian said, reaching for the cuffs on his belt. They hadn't planned to take anyone except Pershing alive but firing on the unarmed, even enemies, left him tasting sour. They could strip the Imp and leave him somewhere on Trask when they landed on the outskirts.

None of this had been his plan.

He would rather have the kid in his grip and be chasing bounty pucks until they'd raised enough for weapons, a ship. The idea of going after Gideon with his bandolier half empty made his palms sweat inside the gloves. But Cara Dune insisted they needed to hit the Moff hard and fast, and that they needed more back-up to do it.

So he walked into the cantina with Boba Fett at his back. Bo Katan was familiar at a corner table, the jolt of _wrong_ still strong at her face on display.

"I need your help."

He had no words to spare in a room full of strangers. For his ad'ika he would beg a boon of this Mandalorian, but it still tasted bitter.

"Not all Mandalorians are bounty hunters," she said, as if he was beneath her. "Some of us serve a higher purpose."

He mantled, gaze hard beneath beskar. As if _anything_ could be more important than aliit [clan/family].

"They tried to take my child."

"Who?"

His gloves creaked into fists. "Moff Gideon."

"You'll never find him."

He sensed Boba shift at his side before speaking. Din had grown better at reading the words in the curve of that battered beskar. That shift read _impatience_ , that line _dismissal_. The twitch towards a holster was _amused_. His sigh smothered behind the modulator but he didn't interfere with the rising tensions.

Watching Fett fight Reeves was an experience. There was a brutality to his movements that fascinated Din. He was methodical and whip-quick where Boba was sharp edges and many too many teeth.

"Enough! Save it for the Imps." Bo Katan grated on his nerves but he kept his peace.

"The Moff has a light cruiser," Din offered. "And we have its coordinates." Perhaps what she lacked in the honour of Mando'ade helping Mando'ade could be bolstered by her greed. "It could be helpful in your efforts to regain Mandalore."

She took up her helm from the table and the slope of her shoulders said she had already agreed. "Then you can bring me to Moff Gideon."

He inclined his head, swearing nothing when their target could be half a galaxy away.

"But one more thing."

Din grit his teeth; Bo Katan played at games and debates when all he wanted was her armour between his foundling and the enemy's blaster fire.

"Gideon has a weapon that once belonged to me. I will kill the Moff and retake what is rightfully mine."

"You can have whatever you want." A glance at Boba before turning to the door. "The child's safety is my only priority."

The stolen Lambda shuttle landed amid sparks and hollering Imperials. Din waited until the bay was still, blaster fire following Cara, Fennec, and the two Mando'ade further into the ship. His job was to take care of the dark troopers before they could become a problem, while the others stormed the bridge and took out Gideon. As long as the Moff was stripped of his power, Din didn't much care who did it. He only aimed to guarantee the safety of his foundling, who was currently ensconced in the cockpit of Boba's ship and eating through the cookies they'd picked up on Nevarro.

It had been amusing to watch Grogu wrap the other bounty hunter around his tiniest finger, often found sitting on the man's lap, listening to explanations about this toggle and that switch. Din was grateful for the space to care for his armour, knowing the little womp rat was looked after.

He could tiptoe through the belly of the beast because he knew Grogu was safe with Boba, a parsec away, sensors locked and waiting for the _all clear_ to return. Between their boarding party, their skills, and their weapons, they could spare the warrior. Fett was their rear guard in case a distress call had found any nearby Imperials.

Din reached the cargo bay and stared at the cursed faces of twenty dark troopers, powered up and advancing. Heartbeat whining in his helmet display, he jammed Pershing's code cylinder into the port and the door slammed shut, bay depressurizing with just one droid escaped. One more than enough, he thought while bouncing, breathless, off the far wall.

He fumbled with a useless blaster, flamethrower, the kriffing whistling birds but they barely bought a moment's respite. His head spun, impact denting wall panels but not beskar.

"Bah!"

Time ticked on without him for a half-dozen heartbeats as he struggled to understand why he saw Boba and his ad'ika on Gideon's ship. If it was betrayal, he would not rest until Fett _burned_. With anger and fear for the child came adrenaline and he slammed his beskar staff into the droid at chest height, knocking it back, parrying the rebuttal.

"What are you doing here?"

"Your ad'ika insisted." Boba was calm, watching Din grapple with the relentless droid. "And I think there's a major flaw in the plan."

"Grogu?" he grunted, getting a wave in response. "You can't be here."

"I think he's in exactly the right place," Moff Gideon countered behind the Mandalorian, staring at the child in Boba's arms. Black-clad shoulders screamed arrogance but Din saw hesitance in the glance to a droid held at bay.

Din didn't spare a thought for the Moff, bearing the dark trooper to the floor with the head of his spear embedded in its neck. He levelled a flamethrower at the approaching Imperial.

"Not one more step."

"You don't understand what I could do with him."

A tilt of beskar but fists still clenched. "He means more to be than you will _ever_ know."

"So be it."

Din had never seen the kind of weapon Gideon pulled from his belt. It crackled like Ahsoka Tano's laser swords but seemed fed from darkness rather than light. He threw up a gauntlet to counter the attack and the force of it knocked him back. Wrenching the staff free as he went, they exchanged blows, Din careful to keep Boba and Grogu at his back. He would not give Gideon a chance to change the stakes.

With his ad'ika watching, coos echoing between the ringing of struck beskar, Din disarmed the largest known threat to his child. As he levelled the sharpened point to that scowling face, he smiled. It was done.

Gideon's shoulders were slumped but Boba's shook as they made their way towards the bridge. Grogu had refused to leave Din's arms, so the Mandalorian held child and dark weapon, Fett their rear guard. He ached but his ad'ika was safe and he fully intended to insist on a chain code tracking fob before turning Gideon over to Cara and the New Republic. No sense taking chances.

"What happened?" Bo Katan demanded, the bridge doors closing behind them.

Cara grinned widely and crowed, "He brought Gideon in alive, that's what happened."

"She means the Darksaber," Boba laughed, lounged beside Fennec.

Din looked at the weapon crackling in his grip. "This?"

The heiress to Mandalore stared at the weapon without moving, eyes locked as if she couldn't look away, as captivated as Grogu with those amphibious eggs.

"Take it." It lay inert on his open palm but Bo Katan made no move to grasp it.

"She can't," Gideon said at their feet, to another muffled chuckle from Boba. "The Darksaber itself has no power. The story does. In order to wield it, she would need to defeat you in combat."

Din stared at the still Mandalorian but before his open mouth could sigh or speak, the ray shields blared a breach.

"We're being boarded." Fennec's voice was calm, hands steady, and Din was grateful, the weight in his arms reminding him that more than just his own life hung in the balance.

"How many life forms?"

"None."

"Those would be the oversight in the princess' plan," Boba Fett sneered, checking the charge of his blaster. Din could tell him it was useless.

"You're about to face off with the dark troopers," Gideon smirked. No defeated, cuffed man should sound so smug. "You had your hands full with one, Mandalorian. Let's see how you do against a platoon."

A beskar helm tilted, staring down at the prone man before he set Grogu on a chair.

"You stay here, ad'ika." The child's coo echoed behind him as he glanced at Cara. "Look after him if I don't come back."

She sputtered a wordless protest but her fists were as steady as ever when she nodded her consent; the child would be cared for.

He turned to Bo Katan and pressed the hilt of the Darksaber against her plate armour.

"This weapon is our best chance and you can no doubt wield it better than I. So do it. Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur. [Today is a good day for someone else to die.]" She fumbled to catch it as he let go and turned back to the doors. A moment to tug at the child's drooping ears and he murmured, "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum [I love you]," before hefting his staff. The weight felt _right_ in his hands now.

Din's smile hid behind beskar but he nodded to himself before stepping away from his foundling. Defending his child was an honourable reason to die. This was the Way.

"Close the doors behind me," he told Fennec at the controls, "and depressurize the ship if they're getting through." The mercenary nodded, both of them ignoring dissent and distressed coos. If he slowed, he might never go. "Open them."

The corridor beyond was still, not even the echoing tread of synced footsteps to break over the rasp of breath in his modulator. He had a beskar staff, the mandokar in his heart, and a clan to protect.

Din set off down the hallway to meet the incoming threat head on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **MANDO'A:**  
>  _aliit_ \- family, clan  
>  _Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur_ \- Today is a good day for someone else to die.  
>  _mandokar_ \- the "right stuff", the epitome of Mando virtue, a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life  
>  _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_ \- I love you
> 
>  **MISC:**  
>  _Mandalore_ \- Homeworld of the Mandalorians. Located in the Outer Rim Territories.


	6. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Din Djarin will stand between his foundling and _any_ threat the galaxy has to offer. Even those Grogu has called.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some dialogue directly from **Chapter 16: The Rescue**.

Din Djarin had taken down two dark troopers before losing track of Bo Katan behind him. He was just glad she'd decided to use the strongest weapon in their arsenal. The droids were no match for the Darksaber, even if they seemed equal to his beskar.

He stood for a moment, the staff lodged in a defeated enemy being the only thing holding him upright. Dank farrik but he _hurt_ and his bones reminded him that despite a bacta bath, breaks still took time to fully knit. But he was determined to take out as many enemies as possible before his defence was a hair too slow, a fraction in the wrong direction.

For now, a droid's joints were always their weakness and he found no dishonour in taking advantage when they outmatched his strength. His hands might tremble, his breaths rasp, but as he had the will, he would keep the point of his spear aimed at one more enemy.

Panting, he stared in hidden surprise as the approaching dark trooper was cut down in a green buzz, not unlike Ahsoka in action. A stranger stood behind the threat.

The corridor was still as they faced off, beskar and downed droid between them. The last enemy sparked, edges glowing from the laser sword's heat.

"You a Jedi?"

"I am." The hood inclined like agreement and if Din hadn't spent his life wrapped in armour, he might have judged the feasibility of such a cloak in battle.

"Any more?" he asked, prodding the scattered remains to make sure no one was lying in wait.

"That was the last."

Din didn't believe the stranger's confidence more than his own but he needed a minute to breathe. He'd take the Jedi''s word for now, while all was quiet.

"Well." He straightened his shoulders, taking in the slight figure beneath the cloak. He hoped Grogu grew up to be stronger than the Jedi they'd met so far. "Come on, then." It didn't sit comfortably to turn his back on the stranger but if he was about to trust them with his ad'ika, he'd have to start somewhere.

The bridge doors opened and he dropped to one knee as his child ran forward, arms raised. That little body fit perfectly in his arms and after a heartbeat's hesitation, he set his helmet aside and rested their foreheads together. Eyes closed against the prickle of _vulnerable_ and _dar'manda_ across his nerves, he soaked up the warmth of his son.

"Grogu'ika, son of the Mudhorn Clan," he murmured, smiling at the coo against his nose. "Morut'yc gar darasuum [you're safe/secure forever]. I've got you."

He could have stayed in that moment forever despite aches, pains, and the weight of stares on them. With a sigh, he raised his head and looked at the stranger.

"You have a name?" Din grunted.

"Luke."

Grogu stared at the stranger, ears quivering. The Mandalorian bristled as Luke pushed the hood back; this Jedi was too young. No _boy_ could properly teach his ad'ika.

"You want to go?" he asked the foundling in his arms, sigh heavy in the back of his throat. The responding coo sounded like slow steps on a new planet, like hiding behind Din's leg when the world was too big and loud.

"He's strong with the Force," Luke murmured; the Mandalorian had only eyes for his child. "But talent without training is nothing."

Din stood slowly, Grogu at his knee. "And if he doesn't want to go with you?"

"I will give my life to protect the child."

Dying was easy. Din had nearly died for Grogu before they'd made it off Arvala-7 and a thousand times since. Dying in the face of danger was inevitable but reevaluating your entire Creed was harder. Until the stranger was so willing, Din was unsure they really had anything to discuss.

"Bah!"

He wasn't quick enough on fading adrenaline to snag the kid waddling up to the arrived R2-unit like an old friend. The wide-eyed excitement soothed Din's doubts. The kid was a pretty good judge of character, droids notwithstanding, so they'd give this Jedi a chance. He sighed and picked up his helmet.

"All right then, pal." Grogu turned at his voice, hands waving and mouth wide. "I guess this is your teacher."

The stranger echoed Din's nod and bent down to pick up the child. Grogu tugged at a wrinkle in the unfamiliar cloak, still focused on the droid.

"May the Force be with you."

All Jedi seemed to mention the Force a lot, Din mused, frowning when Luke turned on his heel. The Mandalorian buir had blaster in hand and helmet in place before another step could be taken.

"Where in haran [hell] do you think you're going?"

A slow footfall retracted as the Jedi turned back to face the blasters.

"He will not be safe until he masters his abilities."

Din retook his foundling, settling ad'ika against plate armour but keeping blaster in hand. He wouldn't underestimate the Jedi's skills but neither would he allow his child to be taken. Moff Gideon, trussed speechless on the floor, could attest to that.

"Which is why _we_ will be going with you, to begin his training." Grogu cooed around the Mythosaur pendant, claws wrapped firmly around Din's thumb.

Luke closed his mouth and nodded. "Very well."

Din inclined his helmet, holstering his weapon but keeping a solid grip on the kid. He clasped arms with Cara, forehead to beskar with the child between them.

"I'll see you again. I promise," he said. He'd take to his grave that her eyes were glossy.

"I'll hold you to that." He smiled as she ran a finger down Grogu's ear. "Be good for your dad, okay?"

"Bah!" was the only response. They both knew any agreement was a lie; the womp rat would see his hair grey before the year was out.

Din turned to Fennec and Fett, who had yet to put his blaster away.

"Thank you," he murmured through the modulator. Knowing mere thanks could never be enough, no matter the incentive. "Our debt is wiped clean. Ret'urcye mhi bid vod [maybe we'll meet again as brothers]," he offered, visor locked on Boba's. The bounty hunter nodded and they clasped arms.

"Cuun entye'jaon ti ijaat, ner vod [our debt is over with honour, my brother]," Boba returned.

They stood together, breathing in sync for a moment before Din nodded to Fennec and turned to Bo Katan. The Darksaber was quiet at her side and he stared at it for a moment until Grogu wriggled against his chest. His visor met her eye and inclined his helmet. There were no words on his tongue for this Mandalorian who sold her ammunition as surely as he did. Let her keep the blade. He had no need for a weapon he was not trained to use.

A glance at the R2-unit still beside the stranger. Despite the lingering ache of uneasy memories, he was armoured and his clan together. Beskar was a match for anything this droid could throw at them and, anyway, the kid had gone right up to it. He looked to the Jedi, meeting that gaze through his helmet and waving a hand for Luke to precede them through corridors strewn with a platoon of dark troopers. 

All Din had in that moment was his beskar and the ad'ika in his arms. In the entire galaxy he had friends left behind and his clan of two. There was nothing else he needed.

****

****

**END.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter will be followed by an epilogue.
> 
>  **MANDO'A:**  
>  _Cuun entye'jaon ti ijaat, ner vod_ \- our debt is over with honour, my brother (put together by me)  
>  _dar'manda_ \- a state of not being Mandalorian. Not an outsider, but one who has lost his heritage, and so his identity and his soul. Regarded with absolute dread by most traditionally-minded Mando'ade  
>  _Grogu'ika_ \- "ika" is a diminutive suffix, ca be added to a name as a very familiar or childhood form. In this context "Little Grogu"  
>  _haran_ \- hell, literally: destruction, cosmic annihilation. Used in the context "Where in hell do you think you're going?"  
>  _Morut'yc gar darasuum_ \- you're safe/secure forever (put together by me)  
>  _Ret'urcye mhi bid vod_ \- Goodbye; literally: "Maybe we'll meet again." (I added "bid vod" for "as brothers")


	7. Epilogue: Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The ship had been flight worthy for a week, pieced together from salvage and bartered scrap. Din knew he was stalling.
> 
> "I can't stay here forever," he whispered into the growing shadows. "I'm not a Jedi." He rested their foreheads together, eyes stinging. "But I will always return to you, ad'ika."

The ship had been flight worthy for a week, pieced together from salvage and bartered scrap. Din knew he was stalling but it had been nearly a year since they'd arrived for Grogu's training and he just couldn't make himself fly away from the kid.

Each day, as the suns were setting, Din would be outside by the ship, wrist-deep in the engine compartment or sipping caf, waiting. And each day, his ad'ika would come running down the path towards him, arms up, happy. They waved together at Luke, just before the bend in the trail, and turned into their tiny home for the day's end meal. Din set his helmet and blaster by the door, beside Grogu's growing collection of rocks.

"Y'know, kid," he said, soup and bread between them, sleep on the horizon. "I've got the ship working."

If he lived a thousand years, Din Djarin would never forget the look on his son's face in that moment.

"No, no." He swept Grogu into his arms, eyes wet at the feel of tears against his neck. The floor was hard when he sunk to his knees. "No, ad'ika, I'm not— No. You will always be my child. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum [I love you]." He pulled back to capture that beloved face in his palms. "We are _clan_ , Grogu. That will never change."

He got a nod, a sniffle, and arms so tight around his throat he could barely breathe.

"I was just thinking, well, you're settling into your studies."

"Buir..."

"K'uur [hush], I know, ad'ika. I'm so proud of you." He could feel that smile against his skin. "I'm not leaving you, pal. I was just going to do a quick test jump, go see Cara and Greef on Nevarro." The grip tightened. "I'll be back before your big Jedi test next week and I'll get some of those cookies you like."

Grogu's hold slackened at the mention of cookies and Din smiled. The kid still thought with his stomach first and no amount of Jedi meditation could change that.

They stayed quiet together for a long moment, soaking in shared warmth and easing emotions.

"I can't stay here forever," Din whispered into the growing shadows. "I'm not a Jedi." He rested their foreheads together, eyes stinging. "But I will always return to you, ad'ika. And I will always pick up when you comm."

"Bah?"

"Yes, I promise. Haat, ijaa, haa'it [Truth, honour, vision; to seal a pact]."

They slept in the same bed like they hadn't since they'd first landed, everything new and uncertain around them. Din woke to every shift and whine in Grogu's sleep but he knew this was the right thing to do. He wasn't built to stay planet-side forever but neither would he ever abandon his foundling. So, small trips with long stretches in between, a slow return to bounty hunting if the reward was worth it.

In the morning, he carried Grogu all the way down the path. The kid usually insisted on walking but this morning neither of them was ready to let go.

"So," Luke met them outside the school, a knowing wrinkle in his expression, compassion in the slope of his shoulders. "You're leaving?"

Din nodded. "A quick hyperjump to test the engines. I'll get supplies from Nevarro and come right back." He handed over his child after a squeeze and a bonk of forehead and beskar. "So don't get any kidnapping ideas, Jedi."

"Wouldn't dream of it," the teacher laughed, looking down at the subdued child in his arms. "I'll look after him until you return."

"Vor'e," Din sighed. "Thanks." He tugged gently at a drooping ear. "Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum [I love you], ad'ika."

"Buir," Grogu agreed, pulling his current favourite rock from the folds of his robe. It fit neatly in Din's palm.

"For me?"

"Bah."

"Thanks, kid." He glanced at the Jedi smiling at them. "I told him he can comm me whenever. For anything. It doesn't matter what."

A nod and a smile remained. "He'll be fine."

"Yeah."

It was difficult to step back, to step away. The path home felt longer than it had been the first time he'd taken Grogu to training. This felt like a torture he was inflicting upon them both. His chest ached but his ears echoed the hum of a hyperjump. Din looked at the ship, suns gleaming on the patched hull, ready for the space between the stars.

Closing their cottage up tightly, he patted the door and promised not to be gone too long. With his ad'ika behind him, he would always be looking back. In the cockpit of the ship, he found the perfect place for Grogu's favourite stone, beside the comm on the console, where the silver would flicker in the stars overhead.

Off planet, he startled at the faintest unfamiliar sound, reaching to answer the comm every time. When Luke finally pinged, he pounced before the beep faded.

"Is he okay?"

"Buir!"

Something in his chest unclenched for the first time since he'd left the atmosphere.

"Grogu insisted we say goodnight."

He could hear Luke decidedly _not_ laughing at him but Din was too busy soaking in that beloved babble to give it a thought. He stayed on the call until the chrono on his wrist said it was well passed time for all little Jedi-in-training to be in bed and those coos were fading into familiar snores.

"Thank you," he murmured into the quiet of a sleeping child.

"Anytime."

The cockpit was a little colder with the call disconnected but Din just curled Grogu's rock in his fist and leaned back to get some shuteye before he arrived in Nevarro's system.

The comm pinged. Din had no day and night in the darkness between the stars and the bounty he was hunting but the chrono on his wrist told him it was late back home. The first trip hadn't been easy, separation wearing on both buir and ad'ika but Din had kept his promise to return often and to always answer. They had grown used to the times between being together.

He yawned and flicked the comm on.

"Hey kid."

The responding coo was tired.

"Can't sleep?"

A tiny sigh and a mumble that sounded like _buir_.

He double-checked his autopilot and settled back in the seat.

"Story or lullaby?"

"Bah."

He sighed but even a galaxy away, he couldn't say no.

"Spoiled little womp rat."

"Buir!"

It was worth the life back in that coo, the sound of his ad'ika settling beneath warm blankets in a safe bed. He could picture the comm clutched in an impossible grip because early returns yielded the same scene every time.

Din cleared his throat and set his helmet aside. The words of his mother's favourite lullaby were mostly forgotten but he'd filled in the pieces, adding more frogs and beskar than the original. The effort made effortless by every coo across the comm, giggles when he found new rhymes to add.

It was about doing the best for his foundling, from training to lullabies, to protection. And that meant beskar. Din hadn't told Grogu about fashioning armour for the tiniest Jedi, but he could do without upgraded greaves until the next bounty taken to the new Nevarro Covert. Mandalorians took care of their clans before themselves and even Jedi-in-training needed well-fit armour.

The lullaby faded away to the corners of the cockpit and he smiled at the sleepy coo. _Nearly there_ , he thought, and flicked to their fairy tale storybook on the console display.

He had parsecs left to travel while they found out what happened next. And if he stayed on the comm even after his child had fallen asleep, well, the sound of those murmured dreams made space feel a little bit less cold.

Listening to the soft, even snores, Din glanced at the bounty puck. After a long moment of fingers hovering over the controls, they brushed over Grogu's current favourite rock, which had joined four previous favourites in scattering across his buir's ship.

The Mandalorian smiled at the silver and green threads in the current stone and overlaid the coordinates for home across his current hyperjump. The kid had been training hard for almost two years; it was time the littlest Jedi got a break and who better than his buir to provide the adventure?

Din settled back in the pilot's seat, smiling beneath the familiar blur of stars. Separated from his clan with a galaxy and competing commitments between them wasn't the Way he had ever expected. But a life with Grogu was the choice he would make every single time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **MANDO'A:**  
>  _Haat, ijaa, haa'it_ \- Truth, Honor, Vision. Said when sealing a pact  
>  _K'uur_ \- Hush  
>  _Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum_ \- I love you.  
>  _Vor'e_ \- Thanks
> 
> Thank you for taking this adventure with me! It started as "What if he'd remembered his damned jetpack?" and became something so much larger. Again, huge thanks to my friend **Ryan** for the beta help and to all of you, for your wonderful comments and interest. 💜


End file.
